Kissing a Fool
by SFGrl
Summary: Do you remember your first crush? {Complete!}
1. Prologue: The Truth Will Set You Free

Kissing a Fool 

_Prologue: The Truth Will Set You Free_

Do you remember your first crush?  The first guy that filled your every thought, the one you couldn't get out of your head, even if you tried…the guy that you were so sure you would eventually marry, you would write out your name…with his surname attached, of course—over and over…

Yeah, you know what I'm talking about.  So here's the thing.  My first real crush…the guy that I was certain I would spend the rest of my life with…he was this amazing, handsome guy, with striking blue eyes and a killer smile.  He was funny and charming and well mannered.  He had great style, and was popular and smart and…

_He did not even know I existed._

Okay, yes, I'll admit it.  My first crush was on a movie star.  A movie _and_ television star.  He had this show, it was on every Wednesday night, and my older brother and me would sit down every week and watch it together.  When his first movie opened, I made my parents take me to see it five times.  I actually saw it twelve times, but after five my parents flatly refused to take me so they made Ross—that's my brother—take me instead.

He was my dream-guy.  And I swore I would love him until the day I died.

But of course I was a fickle teenager, and a few years later I was barely aware that he was alive.  I had moved on, as teenagers do, to other guys, guys that weren't all the way in Hollywood, guys that…had seen _Star Wars_ a few too many times.

I can't help but to think of that crush today, twelve years later, sitting on a park bench in Central Park, alone.  Alone not by choice, mind you, but alone nonetheless.

I let the love of my life slip through my fingers this afternoon.  It wasn't intentional, but I am the only one to blame.  I can't blame Rachel for talking me into this whole stupid thing, and I can't blame him for his insecurities—we all have them, right?

No, I did this—I caused this mess, and for what?  Why couldn't I just tell him the truth?

Because the truth hurts…the truth kills…

The truth will set you free.

*

Twelve years earlier…

"I don't care _what_ the _script_ says, my _character_ would never _say_ that!!"

"Alright, calm down, Mr. Bing, I am sure that the writers can—"

"Screw the writers!" Chandler huffed, and threw his script to the floor, before storming off the set.

"He's got quite an attitude…even for a fifteen year old," the director mumbled.

"Tell me about it," William Hargrove replied flatly, "I thank God every day that he's not my _real_ son."

Hargrove, a seasoned stage actor, had been lured to the sitcom world by the show's producer, an old friend of his, with promises of a steady paycheck and a professional cast.

Well, one out of two wasn't bad.

The cast had clicked right away, and he had formed a parent-child relationship with all three of the young actors who played his children immediately.

But the show became wildly popular in only one short year, quickly becoming the most watched sitcom in the country.  The entire cast had become megastars overnight, but only one of them hit the stratosphere.

Chandler Bing had gone from unknown actor to teen idol in a flash.

He had _not_ handled it well.

Temper tantrums were common on the set; everyone was miserable, but the network kept pressuring them to sign on for another year.  And it only got worse when the little brat started doing movies.  He demanded so much attention, and yet he was never on set when they needed him to be.  Chandler was out of control, with no one there to guide him, to tell him that the fame was fleeting, and that he shouldn't burn bridges he had yet to build.

Then again, if anyone had been there to tell him, it's doubtful that Chandler would have listened.

It was no secret that the fifteen year old was already lacking in parental supervision.  His mother had gotten him the job because she had been sleeping with a network exec at the time, but she would certainly never win any mother of the year awards.  She spent more time with her boy toys than with her child.

Rumors around Hollywood were that Chandler's father had left his son and wife, and had fled to Arizona with their pool boy.  The rumors were never confirmed, but no one had ever met Chandler's father.

William sighed, and looked across the room, where Chandler was presently screaming profanities at the director-of-the-week.  He was amazed that that stubborn, spoiled child could play a character that the entire nation loved.

He certainly did not want to be there, when Chandler Bing's world came crashing down.

**AN: That's the set up.  Lemme know what you think…if ya like it, I'll continue it!**


	2. One: Vampires Among Us

**AN: Warning—Mild swearing in this chapter.  I'll change the rating if needed.**

Kissing a Fool

One: Vampires Among Us 

1984

He slammed the heavy metal door open angrily, and stalked out onto the backlot.  The harsh afternoon sun was an unwelcome contrast to the dark, cold studio, and Chandler had to squint until his eyes adjusted to the light.  He shoved his hand into his pants pocket blindly, and pulled out a pack of Marlboro Reds.  He shook out a cigarette, and shoved the pack back into his pocket, before lighting the white nicotine stick and inhaling deeply.  He exhaled heavily and leaned up against the stark off-white wall.

He was so tired.

He was always tired these days, and it seemed that he could never get a moment's peace anymore.  He felt like he was being pulled in ten different directions, by people that only wanted to cling onto his fame and fortune.  They were like vampires, sucking out his life force at every opportunity.

God, he could be so dramatic sometimes.

He chuckled bitterly, and inhaled deeply on his cigarette.  The studio door opened just as he was exhaling.

"Aren't you a little bit _young_ to be smoking?" Kathy Scott, Chandler's co-star/onscreen sister walked out and grabbed his cigarette before putting it to her own lips.

"Like you should talk," Chandler smiled, and pulled another cigarette from his pack.

"Everyone in there is 'conferencing' about you," Kathy sighed, "Why do you have to always start shit?"

"I didn't start it, they did.  They're always treating me like a little kid," Chandler whined.

"Newsflash Bing, you are a kid.  Just because you are a millionaire—"

"Multi-millionaire," Chandler corrected.

"Fine, _multi_-millionaire, that doesn't make you a man."

"Funny, you had no complaints about my manhood last night," Chandler smiled wickedly.

"You wish, Bing," Kathy dropped her cigarette and stubbed it out with the tip of her shoe, "tourist alert," she added quickly, and kicked away her cigarette butt.

Chandler took one last drag and followed suit, exhaling his smoke just as a mini-tram full of tourists approached.

"And if you look to your left you will see…well my, you folks sure are _lucky_ today!  It looks like we're gonna get a visit with not one, but _two_ of the stars of the hit show _Family Style_!  Chandler Bing and Kathy Scott!" The too-perky female tour guide pulled the tram to a stop and smiled pleadingly at the two actors.

"They just _had_ to start shuttling studio tours through here, didn't they," Chandler muttered through his stage smile, as he and Kathy waved enthusiastically and approached the tram.

"At least you don't get groped by dirty old men," Kathy replied through gritted teeth.

"That's what you think," Chandler replied flatly, before turning to the tour group.

Vampires.

1996

"There you are," Rachel sighed, as Monica slumped into the coffee shop, "hey, what's wrong?"

"I told him," Monica sighed, as she collapsed onto the sofa and took the coffee Rachel handed her, "I told him the truth…and he totally freaked out, and he said he never wants to see me again."

"Wow…um, Mon, why did you tell him?"

"I had to, Rach!  I always hated that it was between us, and I couldn't live a lie!"

"God, you are so…ugh!" Rachel fell onto the sofa next to Monica, and waved her hands in exasperation.  "Do you know what's going to happen now?  Do you even know how good you had it?  Did you even stop to think of how this was going to affect _me_?"

Monica turned to look at her friend, "Gee, I'm sorry I didn't include you in my relationship decisions," she said flatly and sarcastically, "How selfish of me."

"Tsh, yeah!" Rachel replied, ignoring Monica's sarcasm.

"Rach, you don't understand, okay?"

"No, I do understand, Mon!  You were happy!  Happier than I've ever seen you!  And then you had to go and tell him the truth, and look where it got you!"

"Maybe after he calms down—"

"Calms down?  Mon, I love you, you know that.  But this has got to be the single stupidest thing you have ever done in your entire life!"

"Yeah, I don't know about that…"

1995

"Oh, come on, Rach, it'll be fun!"

"I really don't see how standing outside in the _freezing cold_ behind a _theatre_ could ever be perceived as 'fun'," Rachel whined, as Monica took her hand and dragged her down the darkened street.

"Oh, look, there he is!"

"What?  Where?" Rachel craned her neck around, as a crowd quickly began gathering.

"Joey!  Joey!  Can you—um, sign my Playbill?" Monica smiled, and shoved her program toward the handsome actor.

Joey grabbed the program and signed it wordlessly, as he worked his way through the crowd.  He stopped in front of Rachel, a predatory grin spreading across his face.

"How you doin'?" 

"M-me?" Rachel grinned, as she pushed out her chest.

"What's your name?"

"Uh—um—"

"Her name is Rachel," Monica pushed her way toward Joey, "and I'm Monica."

"Well alright," Joey smiled, "It's always more fun with two!"

"What?" Monica furrowed her brow.

"What?" Joey replied, then dropped an arm on each woman's shoulder, "You ladies wanna get some coffee?"

"So, when you said coffee, I assumed you meant at a _coffee shop_," Monica muttered nervously, as Joey keyed into his apartment.

"I make better coffee," Joey said slyly, and winked at Monica as she walked into the apartment.

"Hey Joe, your agent called," a disembodied voice came from behind a barcalounger.

"Whoa, dude, I didn't know you'd be here," Joey chuckled uneasily, "Uh, well, that's okay, now we have even numbers."

The chair whipped around, and a light-haired, thin man stared up at Joey incredulously.

Monica stared at the man for a moment, trying desperately to figure out where she'd seen him before.  He looked really, _really_ familiar…

"Chandler, this is Monica and Raquel," Joey ignored Chandler's look and waved his hand toward the two women.

"Rachel, actually," Rachel said quietly.

"Nice to meet you," Chandler smiled tightly and stood up, "I'll…go take a walk or something."

"You don't have to," Joey said.  Lowering his voice he added, "Dude, I brought one home for ya!"

"Gee, thanks," Chandler replied rancorously.

"Mon, you should talk to that Chandler-guy!" Rachel whispered, as they watched the two men argue at the front door.

"Rach, that is Chandler Bing!  I—I can't talk to Chandler Bing!"

"Who the hell is Chandler Bing?"

"Don't you remember that show when we were kids?  _Family Style_?"

"Um, no.  But maybe he'll want to talk about it—or wait, even better!  Act like you don't even know who he is!  He probably gets asked about that _Family_ show all the time!"

"But—"

"I'm telling you, it'll totally work! Especially on a washed up actor like him!"

"Rach!"

"Hey, you ladies don't mind if Chandler stays for a while, do you?" Joey boomed, interrupting their session.  Chandler shot Joey an evil glare, and Rachel elbowed Monica.

"Uh, no, not at all," Monica smiled at Chandler, who flushed slightly and looked at his shoes.

"See?" Joey smiled at Chandler triumphantly, and made his way back to the women, "So what were you ladies talking about?" he asked flirtily.

"Um, well, I was just telling Monica that I thought Chandler looked familiar," Rachel lied, and shot Monica a pleading glance, "And then it hit me—You're Chandler Bing, right?"

Chandler's expression hardened, and he groaned inwardly, "Yeah," he sighed.

"I knew it!  Monica didn't know who you were, but I remember your show…"

Chandler shot Monica a strange look, and shoved his hands in his pockets.

"My, uh, parents didn't let me watch television," Monica mumbled.

"Wow, so…you've never heard of me?" Chandler asked warily.

Monica shrugged, "Sorry, I—I guess…not."

"No, that's okay," Chandler grinned, "that's definitely okay."

1984

"Well, that was…unpleasant," Kathy said through her smile, as the tram pulled away.

"I imagine that that is what hell is like," Chandler replied through an equally fake smile, and dug out his cigarettes as soon as the tram was safely out of sight.

"Gimme one," Kathy held out her hand.

"Why can't you buy your own cigarettes?" Chandler sighed, and handed her a stick.

"I'm trying to quit," Kathy muttered with the cigarette between her lips.  Chandler lit the cigarette and she took a deep drag before adding, "besides, you make three times more than any of us, you can afford to support one of my vices."

"Yeah, I guess I'd rather support this than your fucking coke habit," Chandler hissed, and took his place against the studio wall.

"Fuck you," Kathy muttered, as the studio door opened again.

"Chandler, David wants to see you," Ian Chambers, Chandler's other onscreen sibling announced flatly, his eyes narrowing when he spotted Kathy.

"Kathy, I thought you quit smoking," he whined in his annoying nine-year old voice.

"And I thought you quit being a _loser_," Chandler spat, and stubbed out his cigarette, as he and Kathy pushed past Ian into the studio.

"_David_ said I don't have to take that from _you_," Ian whined meekly.

"Well then go tattle, _loser_," Chandler challenged, and pushed Ian away before storming across the studio.

"He's just a kid," Kathy whispered, as she jogged to catch up with Chandler moments later.

"So am I," Chandler said innocently, his cerulean eyes dancing and a wicked smile lining his face, "and so are _you_.  Kids will be kids," Chandler laughed, and walked away slowly.

Kathy watched him walk away, and shook her head sadly.

Kids—that's the last thing they were anymore.

**AN: Thank you all for the kind reviews!  I hope I can make this into something mildly readable…the idea has been dancing in my head for a while…lemme know what you think!**


	3. Two: Leave Your Pride at the Door

Kissing a Fool

_Two: Leave Your Pride at the Door_

1995

"You do know that those things will kill you, right?"

Chandler turned toward the chipped metal door and smiled, as Monica stepped through the doorway and onto the gravel-covered roof.  A sharp wind kicked up, and she wrapped her arms around her tiny frame, while simultaneously shaking her hair out of her face.

"Yes, they will kill me, but they are the only vice I have left these days," Chandler sighed, and took a long drag off of his cigarette, before flicking it carelessly over the side of the roof.

"You've had a lot of vices then, I take it?"

Chandler sighed heavily, and turned his head away from Monica, his eyes searching the sprawling cityscape that shimmered before him.  

"I had a few, I guess," he finally replied, his voice suddenly raspy and worn.  He turned back to Monica, and she noticed that his eyes suddenly seemed to mirror his tone—no longer a bright, dancing sea of blue, the color had somehow dimmed to a dull slate, the sparkle that lit them vanished.

"We don't have to talk about your vices," she whispered reverently, and smiled warmly.

His eyes softened, and his easy grin returned, and Monica felt herself involuntarily relax.  How was it that this man that she had only really met two weeks ago could have such an affect on her?

"I guess…I don't really like revisiting that part of my life," Chandler said softly, his eyes once more reverting to the sea of stars below them, "I don't like the person I used to be.

"Maybe that's why I like talking to you so much—I don't have to live up to those expectations with you, Mon—I don't have to worry that you are _projecting Johnny_ onto me."

Monica flushed, and felt her stomach roil nervously—she couldn't tell him the truth, so now she had to play along—it was all or nothing.  Swallowing hard, she tilted her head to the side and furrowed her brow.

"Who's Johnny?"

"Oh, sorry—um, Johnny is the name of the character I played on _Family Style_.  He was this wholesome, goody-two-shoes genius kid, who was witty and charming and who everyone loved.  Basically, he was everything I wasn't.  He was everything I could never be, and I resented him for it.

"He had a perfect family, and a perfect life in a perfect house, and all of his problems were solved in under thirty minutes.  I never had that—I never had a family at all, and I—God, you probably don't want to hear my lame-ass sob story," Chandler laughed bitterly, and pulled out another cigarette.

Monica pulled the cigarette from his mouth before he could fish out his lighter.  She tossed it over the side of the roof, and tentatively took his hand.

"But I do want to hear it, Chandler.  And when you're done, I can tell you all of the reasons why real, non-TV families are not always the greatest thing to have."

Chandler chuckled, and squeezed her hand, before leading her across the roof, and into the warmth of the apartment building.

"Well, my story is a long one, so we'd better get you some coffee."

1988

Chandler pulled the slip of paper from his pocket with a pale shaky hand, and struggled to gain control of his tremors as he read the address that he had scrawled on it hours earlier.  He pulled his thin jacket around his emaciated frame tightly, and sniffled, the tip of his nose rosy and drippy.  Why the hell was it so cold?  It was never supposed to be this cold in LA.  He took a deep breath, and blinked several times, trying to focus his eyes on the paper.  Concentrating with all of his will, he read the numbers out loud, and then looked up at the numbers on the building that stood in front of him.  The painted brown wood was chipped, and the sidewalk in front of the building was cracked and lined with weeds, but it was a hell of a lot nicer than the places he'd been staying in lately.  

He slowly climbed the steps to the second floor, and scanned the faded brass numbers on each of the weatherworn doors.  He spotted apartment number 20, and rapped on the door loudly.

There was a grunt, and the sound of something shifting, and he could hear the sound of heavy footsteps approaching the door.  He held his breath, and forced himself not to run.  The door swung open, and a thin, tired-looking man looked down at him warily.

"Whadduyawant?" the man slurred angrily.

"K-Kip?  I-it's me, Chandler."

"Bing?  Whatthefuck 're you doinghere?"

"I…I was wondering if I could borrow your couch…you know, just for a few days, until I can get back on my feet?" Chandler said quickly, his eyes on Kip's bare feet.

"Idunno…I guess…hey, doyougotanypot?"

"Um, no…but I know a guy…"

"Yeah, alright comeoninthen," Kip slurred, "Been a while since I lived with a _movie star_!" Kip laughed maliciously, and Chandler winced at the insult.

"Yeah, I guess," he muttered, and shuffled into his apartment.

"Leave your pride at the door, Bing, leave your pride-at-the-door!"

Little did Kip know, Chandler had left his pride somewhere else a long time ago.

1984

"Duuuuuuuude, come on in!  Welcome to Casa de ME!" Sean, a fellow actor, and Chandler's best 'friend' grinned, as he swung a half-empty beer can around, "the drinks and the ladies are by the pool—hey, who's your friend?"

"Uh, this is my friend Kip," Chandler smiled, "he's crashing at my pad for a few days…you know, until he can get back on his feet," Chandler added patronizingly, and slapped Kip on the shoulder.

"Well, come on in Kip!" Sean yelled, and pulled the two men into the house.

The crossed two ridiculously decorated rooms—black leather furniture and neon signs being the theme of both—and walked onto a large cement-and brick patio.

"Wow," Kip muttered under his breath, as he scanned the backyard enviously.  The sprawling yard was filled with bikini-clad women and beer-drinking actors—most of them much older than either Sean or Chandler.  Behind the yard was a breathtaking view of Los Angeles.

How a kid his age could afford a place like this—was beyond Kip, who had yet to get a 'big break', and had been living in the Valley his entire life.

"C'mon Kip, I wanna introduce you to some friends," Chandler smiled, as they began crossing the lawn.

"I-Is that Molly Ringwald?" Kip pointed to a waify redhead several yards away.

Chandler grabbed Kip's arm, and yanked it down, before pulling him toward him angrily.

"Dude, _do not point_, okay?" Chandler hissed, and let go of his jacket angrily.

"Sorry," Kip muttered, and followed Chandler across the yard like a lost puppy.

"Chandler," a pretty, stick-thin blonde cooed as they approached the pool's diving board, "who is your cute little friend?"

Chandler shot Kip a glare, and smiled viciously.

"Him?  He's nobody."

1996

His hands were shaking, as he used the butt of his old Marlboro to light his new one.

He'd never felt so angry…so hurt…so _stupid_ in his entire life.

He had trusted her…really trusted her, with all of his being—and all of it—every single thing she'd said, was a lie.

He pounded his fist onto the wall of the faded off-white hallway, and growled angrily, stubbornly refusing to let his tears fall.

_She wasn't worth it._

Deep down, he knew he didn't believe that—he loved her, he loved her like he had never loved anyone—even himself—and that scared him to death.

But all of that love was shadowed by the betrayal, the anger, and the lies that had taken over several hours ago, and now what he really needed, was a release.

He put the vodka bottle to his lips, and sucked down half of its contents, before pounding on the apartment door.

The door swung open, and the woman on the other side looked up at him sadly, and shook her head sympathetically.

He lurched inside, and slumped onto her worn brown sofa, the vodka bottle slipping from his shaking fingers.

"I thought she was the one, Kath, I really did," he sighed, and rolled his head onto the back of the sofa.

"I know, sweetie, I'm so sorry," Kathy sat down next to her old friend, and ran her hands through his matted brown hair softly.

"I hate her…and I hate me…I started drinking again," he sighed with a slight slur, and pointed at the vodka-covered carpet.

"I know, baby," Kathy sighed.

"I hate her," he muttered again, pulling Kathy toward him roughly.

"I know," she sighed sadly, and straddled his lap.

It was his ritual; it was his way.  He would come to her when he was at his lowest, and she would make him feel better, the only way she knew how.  She would let him have his way with her, because she loved him unconditionally, and he knew it.  

She had followed him to New York, when he had abandoned LA, and all of its hollow promises.  She had been there since the beginning, and wanted nothing more than for him to love her back.

But he never did.  

He pushed her onto the sofa, and cried out someone else's name that night. She lay under him, silent and unmoving, as he cried himself to sleep.

And then she did the same.

**AN: Man, Chandler is a bastard in this one, isn't he?  *laughs maniacally*  What do you think?  Do you like it?  Hate it?  Tell me!  Thanks!**

**A**


	4. Three: When We Were Kings

AN: Thank you all for the kind reviews!  I just knew there were some closet Kathy fans out there…I love Paget Brewster, she rocks.  Ahem.

Anyway, someone pointed out that Chandler is out of character—yes, he is, as are several of the characters…sorry 'bout that, but it's not really changing, LOL.  Also, some folks said the time jumping was confusing them…I'll add a timeline of sorts to the end of this chapter, kay?

As always, reviews are greatly appreciated, and are very motivating.

Kissing a Fool 

_Three: When We Were Kings_

1985

There was a distant, muted pounding resonating inside his head.

He lay in bed, on the shaky border between consciousness and total darkness, hoping that the pounding would cease, praying that darkness would take him.

But it only grew louder, and more persistent, and it took him several minutes more to realize that the pounding wasn't coming from inside his head;

It was coming from his hotel room door.

Groaning loudly, he peeled himself off of his sweat-soaked sheets, and shuffled toward the door, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands as he walked.

"Yeah, yeah I'm coming!" he shouted, immediately regretting the action as a sharp pulse of pain shot through his head.  Sighing, he opened the door, and let his red-faced agent into the room.

"Chandler, what _in the hell_ are you doing?  You have a press junket for your movie, starting…" his agent looked at his watch dramatically, "thirty minutes ago! Get your ass in gear!"

Chandler stood in the center of the room, gaping at the aging man blankly.

"Are you deaf?  Come on?"

"Fuck off, Howard, I don't feel like it!" Chandler growled, and attempted to push his way past the burly, balding man en route to the bathroom.

"Listen to me you little punk!  You WILL get dressed, and you WILL go out there and promote the shit out of this movie!  A lot of people are depending on you, and—"

"YOU can't talk to me like that," Chandler spun on his heel and stabbed his finger in Howard's red, puffy face, "YOU work for ME, remember?  I don't have to DO anything!"

Howard took a deep breath and counted to ten, fighting down every urge he had to smack the sixteen year old into next week—instead he simply shook his head, and threw his hands up in defeat.

"Fine, do what you want, but you will have to deal with the consequences…"

"Whatever," Chandler said, running his hand over his face tiredly, "Just gimme ten minutes, alright?"

The interviews were all the same: What's the movie about?  Did you enjoy working on it?  Was it difficult to juggle filming the movie and _Family Style_ simultaneously?  How much longer do you think _Family Style_ will last?  Are the rumors about you and Kathy Scott true?  By the end of his tenth session, Chandler had had enough; why couldn't he just tape one interview, and give it to all the nosy news people?  He said as much to Howard, who simply shook his head and smiled ruefully.

"Sorry Chandler, this is The Business."

The Business.  Right.  Being holed up in a hotel room all day, no cigarettes, no booze, telling people what they want to hear, and nothing more.  That is _exactly_ what he signed up for.

Chandler stood up as his latest interviewer walked out, and dug through his pockets for a cigarette.  He lit his cigarette and smiled contently as he exhaled, the smile fading to a frown as Howard approached him.

"Your next one is here, you gotta get rid of that cigarette," Howard said gruffly.

"Why can't I smoke in my interview?" Chandler whined, and dropped his cigarette onto the hotel room carpet, stamping it out before Howard could warn him otherwise.

"Chandler, what did I tell you about—argh, it's like talking to a brick wall!" Howard shook his head, "Look, you are sixteen years old.  And sixteen year olds don't smoke!"

"Yeah, okay, what planet are _you_ living on?" Chandler chuckled.

"Don't start—look I—" Howard was interrupted by a sudden commotion in the hallway.  He turned around just in time to see Nora Tyler-Bing make a grand (loud) entrance.

"Chaaandler, daaarling," Nora cooed, and approached her son, arms outstretched.

"Nora," Chandler muttered, his mood suddenly darkening.

"Sweeetheart, you look amaaazing," Nora continued, as she pulled her reluctant son into a Hollywood embrace; a slight kiss on the cheek and a terse hug—he'd received warmer greetings from total strangers—but then, total strangers probably loved him a hell of a lot more.

"What are you doing here, Nora?"

"What, can't a mother visit her only son unannounced?  And you haven't said one word about my new nose job!"

"Hi Mom, I like your new nose," Chandler said sardonically.

"Ugh, what do I have to do to get a drink around here?" Nora announced loudly, smiling as several assistants began scurrying.

"What do you want, Mom?" Chandler pulled out another cigarette, and, ignoring a look of warning from Howard, he lit it and took a long drag.

"I told you darling, I was—"

"Bullshit," Chandler seethed, "You need money again, don't you?  Or are you simply trying to get your face on _Entertainment Tonight_?"

"You little—" Nora started, then stopped herself, before taking a deep breath and shaking her head slowly, "Why do you think I want something from you, darling?" Nora said with false sweetness.

"Because everyone who is nice to me does," Chandler muttered, and stormed out of the room.

*

"Chandler," Howard called from the hotel corridor, "you aren't done with your interviews."

"Yes I am," Chandler yelled, and turned to face Howard.

"No, you signed a contract.  You have to do this, Chandler, or you don't get paid, okay?"

"Howard, come ooooon!  I'm tired!"

"I'll give you something to perk you up…trust me Chandler, it'll make your job a lot easier if you just listen to me, okay?"

"Whatever," Chandler relented, and yawned dramatically.

"Come on," Howard steered Chandler back toward the hotel room, "I've got something in my bag that'll get you through the day."

1987

Howard looked up from his magazine, and sighed deeply.  Who the hell would be knocking on his door at this time of night?  He slapped the magazine down onto the coffee table, and walked to the front door.  He peered through the peephole, then stepped back, before rubbing his brow and opening the door.

"Chandler," he whispered, "What are you doing here?"

The eighteen year old that was standing in Howard's doorway was a mere shadow of the obstinate teenager that he had once worked with.  Emaciated, shivering, pale and withdrawn, the boy's bright blue eyes were open wide; the dark circles that lined them accentuated the cerulean hauntingly.  The boy shivered again, and blinked several times, before opening his mouth to speak.

"Howard," he whispered, and sniffled audibly, "You gotta help me."

Howard darkened, but stepped back to allow the boy entry into the house.  He closed the door then folded his arms stiffly.

"Why should I help you, Chandler?"

"I…I just need a little more, Howard, to keep me going for a little while longer."

"And how would that be helping you?" Howard smirked, "One hit will only get you through the night…where are you gonna go tomorrow?"

Chandler looked up at Howard, tears lining his eyes, "Please," he whispered desperately, any semblance of dignity falling away, "I'll do anything."

"Do you have any money?" Howard arched his eyebrow.

"I—I have a few hundred left from that commercial I did last month…and I—"

"That isn't enough, and you know it," Howard said gruffly.  He paused, and smiled softly, running his hand through Chandler's unwashed hair slowly, "But I suppose we could work something out…follow me," Howard whispered, and led Chandler upstairs slowly.

_Who works for whom now?_ Howard thought bitterly, as he closed his bedroom door behind Chandler, and ignored the nagging voice deep within his subconscious that reminded him that this was all his fault—that he was responsible for destroying his biggest star—and that there was really nothing left for him to take.

1996

"Monica…MONICA!" 

"What?" Monica jolted, and looked over at Rachel crossly.

"Don't you think you have enough sugar?" Rachel pointed at Monica's right hand, and Monica immediately stopped dumping sugar into her coffee.

"Sorry," Monica muttered, and immediately set about sweeping sugar granules off of the table and into her cupped hand.

"Mon, they have people here to do that," Rachel said, then shook her head, "course I forgot who I was talking to," she giggled.  When Monica didn't respond, she leaned toward her and placed her hand on Monica's arm gingerly.

"Mon, have you tried calling him?"

"Of course I have!" Monica snapped, and dumped the renegade sugar into her already full coffee mug, "I called, I wrote him a letter, I even sent him a fucking e-mail," Monica reddened when she realized how loud her voice had gotten.  She glared at the curious onlookers in the shop, and sighed deeply, as she stared down at her hands, balled into tiny fists on her lap.

"He hates me," she whispered.

"No he doesn't, he's just mad!" Rachel said brightly.

"Rach, it's been a _mont_h.  He hates me."

"He…wow, a month, huh?"

"Rach!"

"Sorry, I just…maybe you should go see him.  Try and talk to him?"

"I would, but it's like he's fallen off the face of the earth!  He is _never_ home!"

"And _how_ would you know _that_?"

Monica flushed, and shrunk into her seat, "I dunno."

"You little stalker," Rachel giggled, eliciting a small laugh from Monica.

"I wonder where he's been all this time…I wish you were still on speaking terms with Joey," Monica sighed.

"Yeah, me too," Rachel smiled sympathetically, though her eyes said differently.

*

Kathy stood up slowly, and pulled Chandler's t-shirt over her head.  She pulled the comforter over Chandler, and watched him silently for several minutes.

She'd never seen him this bad before.

She thought she'd seen him at his worst; but he had never really shown his emotions the way he had been the past few weeks…and he had never stayed in her life this long before.

It was beginning to scare her.

She took in a sharp breath, as Chandler rolled to his side, and let out a deep sigh in his sleep.  When his breathing evened again, she exhaled, and sat down on the edge of the bed.

She wanted to be his savior.  To be everything he needed, and everything he wanted.  She wanted his world to revolve around her the way it seemed to revolve around this woman.

Because she never thought the world would ever revolve around anyone but himself.

He was capable of love—he was capable of selflessness.

Just not with her.

She wiped away a stray tear, and stood up slowly, before circling the bed and kissing him on his forehead softly.

"I love you," she whispered, then walked out of the bedroom, and closed the door.

When the door clicked, Chandler opened his eyes, and felt his heart ache anew.

1985

"For all the publicity this club has gotten, its not all that great," Sean whined, as he downed his third Jack and Coke and winked at a skinny blonde who crossed his path.

"It's alright," Chandler shrugged, as he snubbed out his cigarette and scanned the sweaty crowd languidly.  His eyes fell onto Kathy, who was swinging her head and hips to the rhythmic thumping of the music, her hair whipping around her loosely, and a small smile playing on her lips.  Chandler smiled slightly, his eyes following her as she moved into the crowd.  

"Dude, are you even listening to me?"

Chandler jolted, and looked toward Sean, his eyes wide.

"What?"

"Oooh, I see," Sean grinned, his brown eyes landing on Kathy.

"What?"

"You so want her, dude!"

Chandler reddened, and backed up slightly, "Whatever," he choked out.

"You do!"

"Shut up, asshole!" Chandler yelled, walking away before Sean could reply.

He pushed his way through the sweaty, rhythmic crowd, his breathing ragged and his head spinning.  He was vaguely aware of the flashing colored lights, and the deafening music that surrounded him.  He spotted Kathy, and snaked his way through the remaining clubbers, taking her hand as he slid to her side.

"Hey handsome," Kathy grinned, as she continued to dance.

"Hey," Chandler rasped, "Let's get outta here."

"Why?" Kathy furrowed her brow in confusion, "I like it in here!"

Chandler blinked, then pulled her toward him, kissing her roughly and pressing his moist body to hers.

She pulled away slowly, and looked up at him, her eyes dancing in the flashing club lights.

"Oh," she whispered, and smiled slightly, as he yanked her arm and led her off of the dance floor.

**AN:  **

**Timeline:**

**1984-86 – Chandler is a teenager with a hit TV show**

**1987, 88 and into the 90's – His career falls and his life is…bad.**

**1995 – meets and has a relationship with Monica**

**1996 – "present day"**

**Hope that helps…**


	5. Four: Stand By Your Man

AN: So, I got this e-mail this morning from someone who asked me why all of my fics are so dark, when _Friends_ is supposed to be a comedy.  (They also said one of my plots wasn't plausible but whatever, lets not focus on that, as none of my stories are, really, lol)  So here's my answer:  Because I'm the writer, that's why!

Actually, I don't write comedy because comedy is hard to write.  While most of my friends consider me to be "annoyingly funny" (in a Chandler kind of way), writing that type of humor is difficult, and so I leave it to the professional show writers to handle.  I, meanwhile, will continue to torture Chandler and Co. as I see fit, because it's easier, and I am lazy.

Sorry for the long AN…on with the story.

Kissing a Fool

Four: Stand By Your Man 

1996

_Maggie really did it up…she made everything beautiful._

"I hate this movie," Monica sniffled, and blew her nose into a crumpled white tissue.

"Then _why_ are you _watching_ it?" Rachel sighed from her spot at the kitchen table.

"Because…it's so_ beautiful_!  I mean look at them!  They don't even _know_ each other, and they are so _in love_!  Well, he doesn't know she exists yet, but when he finds out…he'll forget all about his dead wife and love _her_!"

"I think you've seen this movie too many times…_and_ I think you're reading too much into it, too," Rachel replied dryly.

"I wish I could be in love in a movie," Monica whispered, Rachel's comment intentionally ignored.

Rachel opened her mouth to reply, but was interrupted by a knock on the door.

"I'll get it," she said instead, as Monica turned back to the television.

She swung open the door to reveal a slim, nervous-looking brunette who looked vaguely familiar, and for a split-second, Rachel was sure that she had gone to high school with the mystery woman.  She shook off the notion, and smiled casually.

"Can I help you?"

"Um, I…your neighbor let me in…he was…going out and I…I hope I'm not intruding, but I was looking for Monica Geller?"

"Oh, um, okay…Come on in," Rachel furrowed her brow, and allowed the trembling woman to walk through the door.

"Mon, someone's here to see you," she called, never taking her eyes off of the peculiar woman.

Monica turned her head, and immediately her eyes flashed in recognition.

What was Kathy Scott doing in her apartment?

She stood up slowly, and smiled coolly, as she walked into the kitchen.

Kathy stood in the entry way stiffly, her eyes following Monica as she made her way into the kitchen.  Monica was gorgeous; Kathy could see why Chandler was attracted to her.  She swallowed down the thick lump that had formed in her throat, and smiled as warmly as she could.

"Monica, I'm Kathy Scott, I'm a…a friend of Chandler's," Kathy extended her hand, and Monica shook it limply.

"You were on the show with Chandler," Monica said slowly, her eyes narrowing somewhat.

"Yes…um…" Kathy pulled at her sweater sleeve, and felt her knees weaken slightly, as the courage she had mustered earlier seemed to drain from her, "Do you mind if I sit down?" she whispered.

Monica shook her head, and she and Rachel sat at the table with her.  The three women were silent for a heavy moment, before Kathy finally took a deep breath and looked up at Monica.

"Chandler is still…upset, and he doesn't know that I'm here, but I—I think we need to talk," Kathy twisted her hands nervously looked down at the table, and bit her bottom lip.

"He hates me, doesn't he?" Monica whispered sadly, causing Kathy to look up at her again.

"No…he hates what you did but…he loves you, Monica.  He loves you more than he's ever loved anyone, and he's totally miserable, and I just…I just can't watch him be miserable anymore. He's…he deserves better than that."

Monica nodded slowly, a realization dawning on her.  She looked up at Kathy, and frowned slightly.

"You love him, don't you?"

Kathy felt her heartbeat quicken, and she unconsciously dug her nails into her hands.  She took a shaky breath, and felt tears welling up in her eyes.  She had to tell them the truth now—because it was written on her face.

"Of course I do," Kathy sputtered, the tears falling freely, "but he loves you, and all I want is for him to be happy."

"He won't talk to me," Monica whispered, as Rachel walked into the bathroom to retrieve a box of tissues.

"He will…he wants to.  He'll be home later tonight…you should go to him."

"I…I don't really understand why you're helping me," Monica said after a short pause, "I mean, if you love him—"

"He doesn't love me," Kathy said with heartbreaking honesty, "And that's just…the way it is.  That's the way it's always been."

1986

Kathy slumped into the corner of the room, and crossed her arms angrily.  Chandler, who she had _assumed_ she was dating, was across the room, making out with some _actress _who worked in the studio next to theirs.

_Well_, she thought, _that's what you get for assuming, dumbass._

Kathy rolled her eyes, and stormed out of the club, and into the cold LA night.  She stomped her way down the street, catching her heel on the curb as she stepped off of it.  She went careening to the ground, arms and legs flailing, and landed unceremoniously on her backside, arms akimbo, and her brand-new designer dress hiked up to her waist. 

It took her a moment to notice the flashbulbs, and suddenly, everything was happening in slow motion.  She struggled to stand up, but her ankle was throbbing, so, instead of making a (relatively) graceful retreat, she was forced to hobble toward her car, her tears flowing freely as she clambered behind the wheel.

An hour later, she was laying in bed, replaying the painful evening in torturous detail.  At that moment, she wasn't sure what hurt more, her ankle or her heart.

*

Chandler shuffled into the studio, his head pounding, and sighed heavily when he noted that the table reading had already begun.  Running a hand through his matted hair, he shook his head, and strode to the table, and set his jaw defiantly.  He wordlessly plopped into the only open chair at the table, and picked up his unmarked script.

"Chandler, thank you for gracing us with your presence," David said flatly, his eyes never leaving the script.

Chandler shrugged, and looked over at Kathy, the only person he felt he could trust on the set.  She looked up at him, and he winked at her, only to receive a death stare and an insolent hair flip in return.  Furrowing his brow, Chandler made a note to corner Kathy later that day.

"Chandler, if you are actually here to work, we're on page 97," David sighed.

Chandler turned his head and glared at David, before flipping through his script reluctantly.

Why did he get the feeling everyone, including Kathy, was out to get him today?

"Kathy, wait," Chandler called, as Kathy limped toward her dressing room two hours later.  She sighed heavily, and spun around on her good heel.

"What?" she said coldly, her eyes narrowing.

"Can I copy your script notes? Hey, what happened to your ankle?"

"Why do you care?" Kathy crossed her arms, and willed herself not to cry.

"I—"

"Look, steal your notes off of someone else…I don't really feel like being around you right now."

"Kathy, what's going on?  Are you mad at me?"

"Oh, why would I _ever_ be mad at _you_?" Kathy snarled in a saccharine tone.

"What did I do?  I…I tried to find you last night, but you—you disappeared!"

"Yeah, right," Kathy scoffed, then walked into her dressing room, and tried to close the door on Chandler.  He stopped the door with his foot, and pushed the door open.

"Kathy, what is your deal?"

"Look, why don't you go get notes off of your new _girlfriend_ Aurora," Kathy yelled, as Chandler pushed his way into the dressing room.

"Is that what this is?  Aurora and me?  Jesus, Kathy," Chandler shook his head, and let out a loud chuckle.

"You weren't even gonna break up with me?  You were just gonna go off with that…whore, and not even say anything?" Kathy felt tears lining her eyes, and she wiped at them irritably.

"Oh, come on!  I thought we were just…you know, screwing around?  I never said you were my girlfriend, ya know!"

"No, you're right, you didn't," Kathy cried, her voice and body trembling, "but I…I don't want t-to _screw around_ with you anymore, so just…just lea-eave me a-alone!"

"Aw, Kathy, come on, don't be like this!  I—"

"Mr. Bing," a young woman poked her head into the room and looked at Kathy sympathetically, "Aurora Jones is here to see you…she said you were taking her to lunch?"

Chandler glared at the intern, then looked back over at Kathy, who was staring at the floor.

"Tell her I'll be right there," Chandler said to the intern, without taking his eyes off of Kathy.

"Kath—"

"Just go, Chandler.  If that's what you want, just go," Kathy's voice was small and quiet, and Chandler had to strain to hear her.

"I—I'll talk to ya soon, okay?"

Kathy shrugged, and Chandler turned and left the room, closing the door softly behind him.

Kathy took a sharp breath, sank into her chair, and sobbed.

1996

Chandler paced the living room floor like a caged animal, his anxiety overwhelming him.  He started gnawing on his fingernails, and told himself that he didn't need a drink.

He just needed to talk to her.

The front door opened, and Chandler looked up nervously, his hands instinctively finding their way into his pockets. He let out a nervous breath, and straightened his shoulders.

"Chandler, what are you doing here?"

"We-we need to talk," Chandler rasped, and swallowed hard.

"I-I thought you were going home tonight…I mean, I told—"

"Kathy, I—I heard what you said to me this morning."

Kathy started, and made a conscious effort to close her hanging jaw.

"What are you talking about?" 

"The thing is, Kath, I've been thinking about it, and—and I love you too.  I always have.  You are the only person I can trust, ya know?  And when I think about you and me…it just…it just makes sense.  _We_ make sense."

"Chandler—"

"I know you love me too, and I know we can make this work.  It won't be like last time!" Chandler crossed the room and pulled Kathy toward him, before wrapping both arms around her lovingly.

Kathy bit her lip, and slowly, reluctantly pulled away.  She averted her eyes away from Chandler's crestfallen expression, and took a step back.

"Chandler, you don't want me, you want Monica."

"No, I don't—"

"Yes, you do," Kathy placed her fingers over Chandler's protesting lips, and shook her head, "You love her, and she loves you, and she is totally miserable, just like you are.  She made a mistake, Chandler, but all of us make mistakes.  Lord knows we've both made enough to last a lifetime," Kathy laughed sadly, and Chandler smiled.

"I love you, so much, but I've been thinking too, and I just…I don't think that this is a good idea.  I'm part of your past, Chandler, a past you are still struggling to overcome.  I will always be your friend, but…Monica is your future.  Maybe she did watch you when she was a kid, so what?  She loves the man she knows, not the boy she thought she knew.  She'll make you happy, Chandler.  And all I will do is remind you of what once was, and we'll both be miserable.

"I saw her today.  I told her you would be home later tonight.  I told her to go see you, and to make it all better.  I…I think you should go to her, Chandler.  I think you need to go," Kathy wiped the tears from her face, and let out a short sob when Chandler gathered her in his arms, and hugged her fiercely.

"I don't deserve you," he whispered distantly.

"No, you really don't," she said into his chest, and laughed.  She pulled back, and he kissed her tenderly, before picking up his coat, and walking to the door.  He turned back and looked at her face, his heart breaking.

"I do love you, Kathy," he whispered.  She smiled faintly, and watched, as he turned and walked out the door.

"I know," she whispered to an empty room.


	6. Five: Coulda Been Your Star

Kissing a Fool

Five: Coulda Been Your Star 

1988

Kathy walked briskly down the stark white hallway, her heels echoing through the corridor hauntingly.  She kept her eyes to the floor, refusing to make eye contact with curious onlookers for fear that they could read her thoughts—and see her devastation.

She peered up at the assigned room number, and stole a short glance over her shoulder, before turning the handle, and pushing the heavy metal door open.

Relative to the rest of the building, the room was dark; the off white vertical blinds were closed tightly, letting in only thin slivers of outside light.  Above the bed, a small light illuminated the surrounding area, and cast a pallid glow upon the bed's current resident.

Had it really only been a year?

Chandler looked terribly small, and fragile; nothing like the booming, obnoxious person he had been right up until the show's cancellation last spring.  Heavy, charcoal bags lined his closed eyes, and his pale, dry lips were trembling.  A blood-soiled patch of gauze covered his right eyebrow, and another covered his bony right arm.  He looked…horrible.

Kathy stifled a sob, and approached the bed slowly, her heart racing.  She sat down, and gingerly picked up Chandler's hand, careful not to disturb the IV that had been taped to it.  She sighed, and ran another hand through his hair, unintentionally rousing him.

He opened his sleep-crusted eyes slowly, and blinked several times, as he tried to focus on the figure that sat in front of him.

"K-Kathy?" he rasped slowly.

"Hi, Chandler," she whispered reverently, and gave his hand a light squeeze.

"Wh-what are you doing here," he whispered, tears lining his heavily lidded eyes.

"I heard…on TV…are you okay?  What happened?"

"Kath…I'm so sorry…I've been…I'm so sorry for not—" Chandler's lips began trembling with intensity, and he stopped to swallow hard.

"Chandler, it's okay…just tell me what happened."

"I…I can't," Chandler closed his eyes, and the tears that had pooled in them escaped and slid down his newly flushed cheeks.

"It's okay, I'm here," Kathy whispered softly, "I'm here to help."

"No," Chandler whispered, "I don't deserve your help…please…just…I just want to die…alone."

1996

He wandered the streets for hours, unsure what to do next.  A bitter wind whipped through the streets, and he shivered, his dry, red eyes barely focusing on the scene surrounding him.

In his heart, he knew that Kathy was right: they'd never work together, as a real, legitimate couple—they'd been through too much together.  And she _was_ a link to a past that he was fighting so desperately to forget.

And Monica.  God, he did love her, no matter how hard he tried to tell himself otherwise. 

In reality, he was not really angry with her anymore.  He was, at first, but then he fell off the wagon, and buried himself in the sanctuary of Kathy's embrace, and he numbed himself from a truth that he was not prepared to face:

She was too good for him.

In spite of his past behaviors, Chandler had always carried insecurities about himself.  The years of rejection following the cancellation of _Family Style_, coupled with the drug abuse and the horrible incident with Sean—all of it only served to reinforce those feelings, and as the years progressed, Chandler found himself digging a deeper hole to hide into, closing himself off from everyone he once knew.

Then he met Monica, and he felt everything change.  She was a constant light in his life—and he felt himself trusting someone completely for the first time in years.

The lies she'd told had hurt—and they had made him angry—but when he started to unravel again, he began wondering whether she'd really want someone with his past—someone so inherently _flawed_—someone who would end up hurting her, as he had so many others.

With Kathy, he could pretend that he was someone that he no longer was—he didn't have to live up to expectations—because Kathy had seen him at his very worst.  But Monica was…she was something extraordinary, and seemed out of reach, and Chandler would have to work to keep her love.

And that scared him to death.

He walked up toward his apartment, and was only mildly surprised to see Monica sitting on the floor in front of his door, her back against the wall, and her arms hugging her knees.  He was hit with the overwhelming notion that she looked like a lost child, and the preciousness of the moment nearly brought him to tears.  Instead, he swallowed down the thick lump that had formed in his throat, and straightened his shoulders, before walking down the corridor, a neutral expression lining his face.

She looked up at him pleadingly, and as he drew nearer, she slowly stood, never taking her eyes off of him.

"Chandler—I'm…so sorry…I just—"

"Let's go inside," Chandler said flatly, surprising himself with his ability to keep his emotions in check.

Monica nodded, and Chandler keyed into the apartment, his hands shaking slightly as he turned the key.  He opened the door, and the duo stepped inside the apartment, both stiff with nerves, and neither able to read the other's thoughts.

"I should have told you," Monica whispered, "But I didn't want to scare you away…I—I guess I have no good excuse—"

"I'm not…Monica, I—I…" Chandler stuttered, then turned away from her, realizing that what he had to tell her would be much easier if he was looking away, "I'm not mad at you…anymore.  I just…I don't know if this is a good idea," he stared foreword blankly, and ignored the slow burning pain in his heart.

"Wh-why?  I mean, I love you—" Monica cried, her voice shaky, but determined.

Chandler dropped his head, and let out a deep sigh.  "Why?" he asked quietly.

"Why…wh-what?" Monica asked, then sniffled loudly.

"Why do you love me?" Chandler turned, and looked at Monica with an intensity that scorched a hole in her soul, "Why?"

"I—" Monica opened her mouth, and wondered what she should say.  Was he still bitter over all of this?  Did he think she loved him for his past successes?  She closed her eyes, and took a deep breath, then looked up into his eyes.

"Because you make me happier than I've ever been.  Because you give me more than I ever thought I deserved.  Because just the thought of you makes me smile.  Because you are on mind all day and all night, and when I'm not with you, I feel incomplete.  Because I just…can't help myself," Monica smiled shyly, and looked up at Chandler hopefully.

To her utter surprise, Chandler smiled widely, and took a long step toward her.  He grabbed her around the waist, and pulled her toward him, before kissing her with so much passion, so much love, that she felt her knees buckle.  He pulled away, and held onto her tightly, tears staining his relieved face.

"The thing is," he whispered, "I love you too.  I love you so much it hurts."

"Is this a dream?  I want you…so much…and this…it doesn't seem real," Monica sighed.

"I love you, more than anything in the world," Chandler smiled.

"I love you too," she cried, and he kissed her again.

"Monica?"

Monica opened her eyes, and looked up slowly, to find Chandler standing over her in the hallway of his apartment building.

"How long have you been here?" Chandler queried, as he helped her to her feet.

"I—I don't know," Monica whispered, still disoriented.  Had it really all been a dream?

"Come on inside, we—we need to talk," Chandler smiled stiffly, and led Monica into the apartment.

She stepped inside, had shivered, a sense of déjà vu flashing by her.  She felt him behind her, and she turned, and forced herself to look up into his eyes.

"Chandler, I—"

"I know," he whispered huskily, "I…I love you Monica.  But I think…there are some things you need to know about me before you say anything else."

"Okay," Monica replied warily, and blindly let Chandler lead her to his sofa.  They sat down, and Chandler took her hands in his gingerly, then lifted one to his lips and caressed it tenderly.  He looked up at her, and she was startled by the darkness and sadness that loomed there.

"I…I told you some things about me…but not everything.  I…I'm an alcoholic, Mon, and after you told me…what you told me, I fell off the wagon—I-I'm not blaming you, I just…you need to know these things.  I…I have…issues…I'm damaged, and I…I am not the shining star you once saw on TV.  I thought it would easier to stay away from you, than to let you love me…for me.  Because I haven't liked myself for a very long time, and I thought that once you got to know the real me, you wouldn't like me either."

"So, I…I've been staying with a friend of mine, trying to avoid all of this," Chandler laughed sadly, and looked away, "Trying to avoid telling you who I really am."

"You were staying Kathy?" Monica asked, and Chandler looked at her, shock in his eyes.

"How—I mean, what—"

"She came to see me.  She told me that…she loves you, and wants you to be happy."

A wistful smile brushed Chandler's lips, and tears formed in his cerulean eyes.

"Yeah…she…she's a wonderful person.  She…loved me when no one else would," he whispered.

"Do you love her?" Monica asked with more desperation than she had intended.

Chandler looked at Monica for a long moment, before tenderly cupping her face in his hands.

"Yes…but not the way I love you.  I…don't expect you to like me, after I—"

Monica smiled, and pulled Chandler toward her for a long, passionate kiss, ecstatic that he still loved her, and was willing to give her another chance.

Chills ran through her again, as images from her strangely realistic dream flashed through her mind.

"Mon," Chandler pulled away, "I think you should…look, I…I slept with her," he rasped.

Monica's smile faded, and she swallowed hard.

"W-with Kathy?"

"Yes.  I…I suppose it's habit…she's always there when I…when I fall."

"You used her, to make yourself _feel better_?" Monica furrowed her brow.

"I…I suppose," Chandler suddenly felt the flush of shame course through him.

"You said you loved her…is that how you show your love?"

"No!  I…I don't know," Chandler sighed and shook his head.  _Why did he have to open his mouth?_

"What happens when we fight again?  Are you going to go running back to Kathy?"

"No!  Look, even if I did, I doubt she'd—"

"She loves you, Chandler, and love makes people do foolish things."

"I suppose it does," he replied distantly.

"I—I think I need some air," Monica said softly, and stood to leave.  Chandler grabbed her hand, as she turned toward the door.

"Monica, I'm sorry…for everything."

"Everything…you mean there's more?  Did you sleep with other old costars?"

"No," Chandler's eyes darkened, and he looked to the ground.

"Then what?"

Chandler looked up at her, and the expression he wore at that moment could have broken Monica's heart, had she let it.  He dropped her hand, and shook his head.

"I'm sorry I'm not the person you thought I was.  The Chandler Bing you wanted me to be."

Monica swallowed hard, and avoided his eyes.

"So am I."

1988

"Hey," Kathy walked into Chandler's room three days later, a large vase of flowers in her hands, "you look much better."

"I feel better," Chandler sighed.

"So, no more talk about how you're gonna 'die alone'?" Kathy smiled.

"No," Chandler flushed slightly, and stared at his blanket.

"Are you ready to tell me what happened?" Kathy asked softly, as she sat down on the bed next to Chandler.  He laid his head in her lap, and closed his eyes, as she began running her fingers through his hair.  

"I…I don't remember most of it…I was so high," he sighed slowly.

"What do you remember?"

"I remember the coke…and some girls…one of them had a rock of something, and Sean was shooting up…he started freaking out, and…we fought.  But I don't remember what the police told me…I don't remember pushing him off the terrace, or cutting my own arms with the glass…I just…" Chandler broke down, and Kathy leaned forward, and kissed his temple.

"I know…it's okay.  Everything's gonna be okay."

"They're gonna charge me," Chandler whispered almost too softly for Kathy to hear, "they said I killed him."

Kathy felt nausea rise through her, and she swallowed hard.

"I know, sweetie.  But it wasn't your fault.  You'll be okay…everyone loves you, and they're on your side."

Chandler sniffled, and looked up at Kathy sadly.

"Then why are you the only one here?"

~*~

AN: Crap.  I was TRYING to wrap this damn thing up, and now I've just dug myself into a big fat hole.  Can all of you review and tell me that this is no good so I can just stop writing (and then cry myself to sleep)?  Thanks!


	7. Six: A Face With a View

Kissing a Fool

Six: A Face With a View 

1996

It wasn't, so much an epiphany.

It was more of a realization, of sorts, a realization that hit him far too late.  But the reflection of past actions, and the admission that he had been a fool—none of these things would win Monica back.

But he wasn't a complete fool.  He knew enough to give her time and space—to let her curse his name and decide what she really wanted.

He knew what he wanted, but was too stupid to hold onto it when he'd had it.

So instead of chasing after her when she fled out of the apartment and down the street, he just…ran.  He had no destination, he had no real reason, but the exhilaration soothed him, gave him what he needed, and more importantly, kept him far from his vices: drugs, alcohol…

And Kathy.

She was, essentially, a vice to him—an addiction he could not control.  It wasn't that she was a bad person, and it wasn't that they'd had mind-blowing sex—no—it was simpler than that.

She was a security blanket he could not get rid of.

But he was no longer a child, and he needed no such device.

He needed Monica.

The wind whipped at his face, and blew through his hair carelessly, as he rounded the corner to the park.  He bolted through the intersection, and into the park, his breathing heavy and labored, his face streaked with tears.  

He had no one to blame but himself.

The thought incensed him, and he ran harder, and faster, until he just couldn't run anymore.  His leg caught onto a park bench, and he went careening toward the dirt trail.  He landed, spread eagle and face up, in the center of the trail, his chest heaving, and blood oozing from his elbows and right jaw.

"Are you okay?" a disembodied voice queried, as Chandler struggled to sit up.

"Y-yeah," he stuttered between heavy breaths.

"Y-you're bleeding," the woman pointed at Chandler's face.  He gingerly touched the face wound, then inspected his bloodied fingers.

"Yeah, I guess I am," Chandler laughed, the giggles eventually overwhelming him.  He fell back to the ground, and laughed heartily.

"Wow, are you some kind of masochistic freak or something?" the woman began to back away slowly.

"No, I—I was just thinking about m-my karma," Chandler sputtered between laughs.

The woman cocked her head to the side, and took a tentative step toward Chandler.

"What about it?" she asked curiously.

Chandler calmed down, and pulled himself onto the park bench.  The woman set down her guitar case and joined him, her eyes studying him the entire time.

"I…I hurt some people, in my life…and I think karma is coming back to bite me on the ass," Chandler continued, after a long, silent moment.

"I see.  Do you think you deserve to be hurting right now?"

"Absolutely."

"Then maybe it's more of a self-fulfilling prophecy," the woman stated plainly, and pulled her guitar case toward her.

"Maybe," Chandler muttered, and watched as the woman pulled an old, word acoustic guitar from her case.

"If I keep telling myself that I'll never be able to play this like Clapton, then I'll never play like Clapton.  So I tell myself that I am a great guitar player, and I always play well—or at least, I believe I do.  If you keep telling yourself that the only way you can help the people you've hurt is by hurting yourself, then you are setting yourself up to be hurt.  And if you keep hurting people so that they can't see how insecure you are, then you will never learn, will you?"

"You do realize that your guitar example made no sense, right?" Chandler arched his eyebrow, "And besides, you know nothing about me."

"Maybe I don't.  But your actions speak loudly.  And you expose yourself much more readily that you'd ever admit."

"I think I've learned the fine art of shielding my true self from the world," Chandler sighed, "After all, I used to bean _actor_."

"You're a little too good at it, and that's why you're so lonely.  And I know who you were," the woman replied.

Chandler laughed, and shook his head.  Off of the woman's look, he said, "No one has ever said that before—'I know who you _were_'."

"Well, are you _that person_ anymore?"

"No," Chandler sighed distantly, "I'm certainly not _that person_ anymore."

"Do you _know_ who you are anymore?"

Chandler looked at the strange woman, and felt an odd chill run down his spine.

"No…I don't think I've ever really…known."

"You can't love anyone truly, until you learn to love yourself."

"You are like a _walking fortune cookie_, lady," Chandler laughed.

"My name's Phoebe," the woman smiled, "and you should heed the advice you find in your cookies."

"My last cookie told me I'd die alone," Chandler sighed.

"Then you will—unless you will it otherwise."

Three Months Earlier

"So the guy actually has the _nerve_ to call my cheesecake _mealy_!  I mean, who does he think he is, anyway?"

Chandler smiled, as he watched Monica pace around her living room, her chef's uniform soiled and crooked, her hat thrown carelessly onto the coffee table.  Her hair was pulled back into a hasty bun, wisps of ebony standing out in several directions.  Her face was shining with a thin sheen of sweat, and her sapphire eyes were wildly ablaze.

He was certain she'd never looked so gorgeous.

There were moment's…moments like these, that Chandler felt the overwhelming, unfamiliar, complete contentment of a life finally going right.  The pure happiness he felt when he was around her was a light, and a warmth that he was completely unfamiliar with, and at times, it unsettled him.  He wasn't sure that he was worthy of ever being happy, after all that he had done.

Whenever his insecurities seemed to surface, Monica would always smile at him, and touch his cheek, or his arm, or hand…she would touch him tenderly, and he would feel his doubts melting away.

"Chandler, are you even listening to me?"

Chandler jerked to attention, and looked up at the disheveled chef guiltily.

"I-I was, um—" he stuttered.

"Ugh, it doesn't matter," Monica threw her arms into the air, and retreated to her bedroom to change.

Chandler stood, and followed her, his hands securely in his pockets.  He stopped in the open doorway, and leaned against the frame stiffly.

"Hey Mon," he said softly, while trying to gauge her mood, "I—I'll bet you make _great_ cheesecake."

She turned around and looked up at him, tears lining her bright blue eyes.

"I really do," she whined, and pouted slightly.

"Awww," Chandler grinned, and walked fully into the room, before taking Monica in his arms, "Clearly this guy doesn't know the first thing about heavy, fattening dessert-products."

"Yeah," Monica cried, her voice muffled because her face was buried in Chandler's chest.

Chandler laughed, and pulled away from Monica, tipping her chin so that she was looking up at him.

"You know, I've been trying to tell you something ever since you came crashing in here tonight," he whispered huskily.

"Oh yeah?  What's that?" Monica smiled contently.

"I…I think…wait…I _know_, that I—I'm falling in love with you."

Monica's eyes widened, and she felt her breathing hitch.  Her smile broadened.

"I _know_ that I'm falling in love with you, too," she whispered.

"Good," Chandler pulled Monica toward him, and hugged her fiercely, "'cause you're the best thing that's ever happened to me," he whispered, "I can't believe you're actually in my life."

Monica nodded, and closed her eyes, and Chandler began kissing her neck softly.

"Me too," she murmured, her chest tightening.

_She had to tell him the truth._

She bit her lip, and considered telling him at that moment, but his hand moved up her shirt, and his lips found a particularly sensitive spot on her shoulder…

And she completely lost her train of thought.

1988

"Chandler! What do you have to say about the allegations that you murdered Sean Grant?"

"Is it true there were hookers in the room that night?"

"Are the rumors about the drugs true?

"Are you and Kathy Scott back together?"

Chandler hugged himself, and kept his eyes to the ground, as his lawyer, several police officers, and Kathy led him from the hospital entrance to a waiting vehicle.

The paparazzi had wasted no time securing nearly every exit from the hospital, and according to his lawyer, they were swarming his and Kathy's homes as well.

"Don't these people have anything better to write about," Chandler seethed, as he tumbled into the car behind his lawyer.

"Are you kidding?  Sex, drugs and murder?  You're the story of the year!" Don, Chandler's lawyer smiled sardonically.

Chandler groaned, and collapsed onto Kathy's lap, heaving a loud sigh as the car pulled from the hospital.

"Chandler, we need to talk about your defense," Don sobered, and pulled Chandler upright.

"I told you, I don't remember anything," Chandler whined.

"Well, you'd better start remembering, Chandler.  This is murder we're talking about here."

Chandler sighed, and looked out the window.  He was more than aware that Sean was dead, and that he may have had something to do with it.  And he knew that regaining his memories of that night might just be the only think that could save him.

Either that, or they could destroy him.

He looked over at Kathy, who was busy talking to Don, and smiled slightly.  In the end, she really was the only friend who came forward to help him.  It warmed his heart, knowing that he could count on her for anything, anytime.

She could save him.

Two Months Later

"Miss Reynolds, it's very important that you tell us all that you remember from that night," Todd Wolcott, the District Attorney boomed, then turned to the defense table smugly.

"I…I remember that Sean…he started yelling at Chandler…and Chandler yelled back.  A-and then they fought, and they—they both went through the glass door…and I tried to pull them back in—"

"And that's how you cut yourself?" Todd interrupted.

"Y-yes.  And the next thing I knew, Sean was…falling, and Chandler…he just…stood there."

"Thank you Miss Reynolds," Todd smiled, and turned to the judge, "No further questions, your honor."

"Mr. Stein, your witness," the judge mumbled.

Don stood, and straightened the papers on his desk with dramatic indifference, then turned and glanced at the press and other members of the galley, before turning to the witness that sat stiffly on the stand.

Marla Reynolds was a prostitute/struggling actress, but she was also the prosecution's star witness.  Her claims that she was drug and alcohol free that night, combined with a damning story and Chandler's inability to remember anything on his own, had made her a liability to the defense.

Don eyed the petite blonde warily, then folded his arms, before approaching the witness box, and leaning on it heavily.  He sighed dramatically, and looked up at Marla.

"Miss Reynolds, you're a prostitute, aren't you?"

"Objection!"

"I simply want to know why exactly Miss Reynolds was even in Sean Grant's home that night, your honor," Don smiled.

"I'll allow it," the judge sighed, and Todd collapsed into his seat.

"Miss Reynolds?"

"Y-yes, I am," Marla said softly.

"As a prostitute, have you ever had to lie to one of your clients?"

"I—I just tell them what they want to hear," Marla said quickly, and Todd winced slightly.

"I see," Don smiled, "do you make that a habit then—telling people what they want to hear?"

"I—"

"Let's get back to that later…Miss Reynolds, do you wear fake nails?"

"Y-yes," Marla said, confused.

"Were you wearing fake nails the night of the…accident?"

"Y-yes."

"You said in your testimony that you had tried to pull Chandler AND Sean from the terrace that night—tell me, Miss Reynolds, how many nails did you break in the process?"

"I—"

"Because according to this police report, two acrylic nails were found imbedded in the carpeting—across the room from the terrace.  No nails were found anywhere near the door."

"Um—"

"Miss Reynolds, how is it that you managed to cut yourself in the frenzy to save your _clients_, and yet broke no nails?"

"I don't know," Marla's bottom lip began trembling, and she looked at her lap.

"Miss Reynolds, why were you so keen to save these boys?  I mean, if they were only clients, why would you care what they did to themselves?"

"I don't—"

"Miss Reynolds, why don't you tell us what _really_ happened that night?"

_Marla giggled drunkenly, as Sean pulled the needle out of his arm, and smiled contently._

_"I told you," she laughed, and stood up slowly._

_She crossed the room, and sat down on Chandler's lap._

"Your turn, hot stuff," she whispered seductively, then kissed Chandler passionately.

_He wrapped his arms around her, and pulled her toward him.  She pulled away, and smiled at him slyly._

_"What can I do for you hot stuff?" she purred._

_"Hey!" Sean pulled himself up, and stalked toward Marla and Chandler, "that one's mine!  Yours is over there!" Sean pointed at the unconscious brunette that was slumped in the corner of the room, and laughed.  He yanked Marla off of Chandler by her hair, causing her to scream._

_"Dude, come on!" Chandler cried, and struggled to stand.  Sean pushed him back onto the sofa, and dragged Marla across the room._

_"What the hell did you give me, bitch?" Sean screamed, and pushed Marla back onto the floor._

_"Sean," Chandler stood up, and crossed the room, "c'mon, don't be a prick!"_

_"She drugged me!" Sean whined._

_"Yeah, with DRUGS, dipshit!" Marla screeched, as she stood up, "I'm outta here," she announced, and turned to leave._

_"Like hell," Sean yelled, and grabbed Marla's arm.  She yanked her arm away, as Chandler pulled Sean away._

_"Let me go, shithead!" Sean roared, and swung at Chandler._

_Chandler ducked, and the two wrestled clumsily toward the terrace doors._

_"Stop it!" Marla screeched, and whacked Sean with her shoe._

_Sean lost his balance, and careened through the glass, taking Chandler and Marla with him.  He quickly recovered, and pulled Marla up by her hair._

_"You little whore," he seethed, and Marla struggled from his grasp.  She looked down at Chandler, who was starting to come to._

_"Stop!" Marla screamed, and kneed Sean in the groin._

_Sean gasped, and stumbled backwards, losing his footing as he tried to lunge for Marla.  He fell over the railing before Marla or Chandler could react._

_Marla looked down at Chandler, who was staring up at her accusingly._

_"What did you just do?" he whispered harshly, before losing consciousness again._

"You still don't remember any of it, even after she told the court the truth?" Kathy asked later that day, as Chandler's car sped from the courthouse.

"I don't remember any of it," Chandler said grimly, "I guess it was the head injury."

"Or maybe you just don't want to remember," Kathy said softly, and turned to look out the car window.

Chandler nodded slightly, and blinked back impending tears.

Marla had been charged with involuntary manslaughter, after the charges against Chandler were dropped.  After thanking Don profusely, Chandler and Kathy bolted from the courthouse, and were on their way to Palm Springs—where Chandler would check himself into a rehabilitation center.

As his car sped down the open road, Chandler sighed deeply, and wondered what he had done to deserve a second chance.

1996

"What are you doing here?"

"Mon—I—I just need to talk to you…please, for a minute?" Chandler pleaded, as he produced what he believed to be a damn good puppy-dog expression.

Monica rolled her eyes, and closed her door, unhooked the chain, and let Chandler into her apartment.

Against her better judgment.

Chandler walked in nervously, and turned to look at Monica as she closed the door.

"Y-you look beautiful," Chandler said timidly.

"What do you want," Monica demanded, folding her arms and keeping her distance from the man she was trying desperately to hate.

"I-I know I don't deserve a second chance, Mon, but—"Chandler turned away from Monica, and his eyes glazed over again, "I love you, and I know that you love me, and everything that we've done enough to hurt each other—we need each other, don't ya think?"

"I don't know," Monica shrugged, and sank into a kitchen chair.

"Mon," Chandler approached Monica hesitantly, and knelt in front of her, "I know that I hurt you, and I am so sorry—but I just can't see my life without you.  I love you more than I've ever loved anyone, and if I have to, I will spend the rest of my life proving that to you.  Please don't throw this away.  Please."

"After I…you didn't talk to me for over a month," Monica whispered, "why should I forgive _you_ so quickly?"

Chandler swallowed, and looked down at his hands, "You're right," Chandler relented, "I-it was longer than a month—it was five weeks and three days," he looked up at a shocked Monica, and a tear slid down his cheek, "Yeah, I kept track too," he said softly, and stood up.

"If you need time, I'll give you time.  I'll do whatever I have to do," Chandler turned and walked to the front door.  He opened it, and looked back at Monica, who was looking up at him pleadingly.

"I'll be back in five weeks and two days," Chandler rasped, and walked out the apartment door.

Three days later

"God, Mon, there's _another_ bouquet of flowers out here for you," Rachel said exasperatedly, as she walked into the apartment with the gigantic bouquet.

"These are even bigger than the other two!" Monica fought to contain her giddiness.

"You know, at this rate, we're going to be living in a _forest_ by the end of the month," Rachel exclaimed, and looked at Monica pointedly.

"Yeah, I'm going," Monica smiled slyly, and slipped into her jacket, "I was going anyway," she added on her way out the door.

*

"Seriously, dude, this is like, stalker personality coming out," Joey shook his head, as Chandler sat down to order another bouquet of flowers for Monica.

"Well, you would know," Chandler smiled, and looked up at his longtime friend and roommate teasingly. 

Joey and Chandler had met soon after Chandler's last stint in rehab.  They had been auditioning for the same part, and had clicked immediately.  They moved in together to save money, and although Joey was now wealthy enough to live on his own, and Chandler had gotten out of acting altogether, neither had the heart to separate.

"Yeah, that girl _was_ a little creepy," Joey said distantly, then shuddered.

There was a soft knock on the door, and Chandler laughed, as he crossed the room to open it.

"Monica," he said breathlessly, his laughter melting away.

"Hi," she said flatly, "can I come in?"

"Y-yeah," Chandler stuttered, and shot Joey a look as he pulled open the door all the way.

"So, I'm gonna take off," Joey announced, and stole a wink at Chandler, before walking out the door.

Chandler turned to look at Monica, and smiled nervously.

"I just came to tell you to stop sending flowers," Monica said with little emotion in her tone, "Rachel's allergic."

Chandler's face fell, and he looked at his shoes, "Oh.  Uh, okay," he muttered.

"Okay," Monica echoed, and began walking toward the front door.  She stopped, and turned to look at Chandler, who had yet to look up, or even move from his spot.

"Chandler?" she called, and he looked up at her quickly.

She could see all of his pain, insecurity and disappointment in his eyes, even as he fought to hide his emotions behind a mask of neutrality.  He continued to look at her, waiting for her to speak, not trusting himself to respond.

"I also wanted to tell you," Monica smiled slightly, and walked toward Chandler slowly, "that I don't need a month to make my decision," she stopped in front of him and took his hand in hers.

"And I was kidding about the flowers," she smiled and winked.

Relief washed over Chandler's face, and he allowed a tentative smile.

"You—I mean we're okay?" he ventured quietly.

"Not yet," Monica grinned, and wrapped her arms around his neck, "but we will be."

Chandler grinned wildly, and leaned down to kiss Monica.  She melted into the kiss, and felt all of her concerns and reservations float away.  It was the first time they had kissed without all of their secrets and worries tying them down, and it was easily the best kiss Monica had ever experienced.  She pulled herself closer to Chandler, and ran her hand down his chest, stopping just over his heart.  Chandler pulled away, and placed his hand tenderly over hers.

"It belongs to you, now and forever," he whispered, and kissed her again.

And she knew, without a doubt, that this was everything she'd ever need.

AN: Wow, this is all kinds of crappy.  But on the upside, it's done!  Woot!  If ya read it, ya gotta review it…that's the rule.  J


End file.
